


Queens Always Have the Last Word

by LAStoryWriterAlex



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aunt/Nephew Incest, Dany deserved so much better, Dark!Daenerys, Dark!Jon, Don't Like Don't Read, F/M, I REGRET NOTHING, Rating for later chapter, Season 8 Fix It Fic - Freeform, and being the amazing queen she is, dark!Jonerys, i'm working with what canon gave us and making it better, not for fans of Sansa, smut at Episode 4, so please no complaints about me not changing the story, this does follow canon though aside from added dialogue, this fic is basically our queen flexing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2020-10-04 09:23:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20468726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LAStoryWriterAlex/pseuds/LAStoryWriterAlex
Summary: As stated by the title, Queens always have the last word.Season 8 was fucking dumb for a lot of reasons, but particularly because it had Dany as essentially a mute, never able to stick up for herself. This fic gives Dany back her voice and she says all the things we were thinking/wished she would have said during the season.I was gonna do the same for Jon but as I already wrote "Jon's Rant" and Jon isn't a Queen (like the title), I decided, nah. This is just for Dany.





	1. Episode 1: What Do Dragons Eat, Anyway?

_ A/N 1: I have one of these for every episode save Episode 3 - because there’s not really any talking in that episode anyway. This follows canon so please, I don’t want to hear any griping about “why didn’t I let Missandei live?” “Why didn’t I change this?” “Why didn’t I change that?” etc. I’m not changing the story at all. Just adding to it. _

_ But for those wondering if I will still kill Dany in the end… think about how much I love Dany and how much I hated the end of the series and ask that question again; you should already know the answer. _

_ A/N 2: For those who loved [Instinct](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16243022) and wanted more of it… check out my Tumblr (linked in profile). I have completely rewritten the story and turned it into an original work (not fanfiction) and am self-publishing. The story is 100% new material (unlike similar fanfic-to-published works like FSOG where only names are changed) and is just under 30k words. For those who are interested in reading more of my writing and would like to support a newbie indie author. I started writing fanfiction first though, and I love everyone here, so I will continue to post fanfiction even as I focus on trying to get a genuine writing career off the ground. _

** _Episode 1_ **

“May I ask, how are we meant to feed the greatest army the world has ever seen? While I ensured our stores would last through winter, I didn’t account for Dothraki, Unsullied, and two full-grown dragons. What do dragons eat, anyway?”

“Whatever they want,” Dany couldn’t stop herself from snipping at the pointy-nosed Stark bitch, though she regretted it immediately, catching Jon’s jaw tighten at her words. It was his fault though. She had sacrificed a dragon for him and there he was, allowing his sister to talk about her dragons and her armies in such a way in front of the entire Northern council. Still, whatever kind of flaccid act her Warden of the North was putting on right now, she couldn’t allow the council to adjourn on her vague threat of feeding his sister to Drogon. No, now was time for being a diplomat, not a dragon.

Dany smiled humorously and stood. “Of course my dragons don’t eat whatever they want, Lady Stark,” she began, pushing in her chair to take Tyrion’s place in the center of the hall. “Aside from Lord Umber’s people at Last Hearth and a few stragglers still coming in from the hillsides, every other Northerner should be camping here at Winterfell, correct?” There was a murmur of general consent around the room before Sansa muttered in the affirmative. “Well then, have no fear Lady Stark. I now realize your knowledge on dragons and geography may be a bit lacking so allow me to educate you. The average full-grown dragon has a daily range of several hundred miles, many times over what an average man can travel on foot or even on horseback. With everyone in the North residing here at Winterfell, that leaves much of the Northern landscape open for my dragons to safely hunt in without interfering with the food supply here.”

A few of the Northerners nodded subtly in approval at that. Of course her dragons wouldn’t drain their food supply. How Sansa could even imply as such was ludicrous. The little Stark bitch was just trying to make her look a fool. A silly foolish queen with large dragons and large armies with no plan in her blonde little head as to how to feed them. Then the pointy-nosed redhead would seem so benevolent and thoughtful when she cut her own rations in order to feed Dany’s _ starving _ armies. But if the Stark girl genuinely believed Dany hadn’t thought of a way to feed her own men, she had another thing coming.

“Now, as to the food supply here at Winterfell, since it seems you only hold objection to feeding my Unsullied and Dothraki, and not, for some reason, feeding the men we are now expecting from the Night’s Watch and the Lannister forces, I am pleased to inform you that my troops have brought their own supplies. As you should have expected. In fact, I am not quite sure why you expected us to show up with our begging bowls out. I may be a young queen, however I know a well-fed and healthy soldier will fight better than a starving one.”

Dany felt rather than saw Jon and Sansa shift uncomfortably behind her. She hadn’t gone into great detail with Jon about the supply trains the Dothraki would be bringing from the Reach and Dorne - they had been too busy fucking to talk much. But honestly, that neither her lover nor his ignorant sister expected her to carry her weight when it came to food and supplies… she could have whacked her lover upside his pretty head for thinking it. Then there was Sansa, implying that she could feed the Night’s Watchmen and Lannister soldiers — white and “native” warriors of Westeros — but not feed Dany’s Dothraki and Unsullied — the foreign, colored “savages” — Dany wanted to break her pointy nose and punch out of perfect white teeth. _ How dare she? _ But Dany would show her. 

“One million bushels of wheat, half a million bushels _ each _ of barley, oats, and rye. Twenty-thousand head of cattle, fifty thousand sheep. Five-hundred wagons of various vegetables and fruit, whole and as preserves. And… because your loving brother told me you enjoyed them so much, as my special gift to you, ten cart-loads of fresh lemons from Dorne.” 

Dany paused to allow the numbers to wash over everyone in the room, many of the Northerners seemingly struck dumb by the amount of food they had brought with them. She turned to Sansa who also was stuck with her mouth hanging open. Jon though, she was pleased to see, was seemingly transfixed by a glob of wax on the head table, yet a small smirk on his face. He always loved it when she took charge and now he seemed to be enjoying the way she commanded the room and his sister. Perhaps she wouldn’t whack him upside his pretty head after all. 

“Will that be enough, do you think, Lady Stark, to feed my armies during their stay here?” Dany asked. But as Sansa opened her mouth to respond, Dany cut across her. “Then again, if it’s _ not _ enough, I can always send my retainers in Essos a message. I know they would be happy to help us, should the occasion call for it.”

“Very good, Your Grace,” Sansa bit out, but Dany wasn’t done toying with the eldest _ trueborn _ Stark.

“Though forgive me, Lady Stark. I find it curious. You say you gathered enough supplies to last your people the winter. But I wonder, how long did you imagine this winter to be?”

“What?” Sansa got out through gritted teeth.

“It’s just that, The Wall is down. The dead will be here in mere weeks. Yes, _ sieges _ can last a long time. But that’s not how the Army of the Dead fight — I would know; I’ve actually seen them. It shall be one battle, and with my armies and my dragons on the field, that battle should be over with rather quickly. And after the dead are defeated, I have no reason to remain here at Winterfell which means my dragons, my armies, and I will only be here a month, at the most. 

“So forgive me, but I just find it amusing that you believe you wouldn’t have had enough supplies to feed everyone for only a month, when you claim to have gathered supplies to last your people an entire winter. If that really is the case, you couldn’t have planned for a very long winter, now could you?”

To Dany’s immense satisfaction, several Northerners, Lady Lyanna Mormont, Jorah’s little cousin, included, chuckled at her words. Dany turned back again and the Stark girl’s face was bright red, as was Jon’s but for an entirely different reason. While Lady Stark was clearly embarrassed, Jon appeared to be trying very hard not to laugh. She _ would _ forgive him later. At catching her gaze, he gave her a small shake of his head, clearly now proud of his queen. Dany didn’t need his praise or approval, but she appreciated it all the same.

“For your armies, your dragons, your dragonglass, and your food supplies,” Jon began, standing finally, to bring the meeting to a close, “The North is incredibly grateful, Your Grace. We and the realm will be forever in your debt, for what you have done in coming here to fight the dead with us.” Dany caught Sansa role her eyes but she didn’t care. She had successfully put the Stark bitch in her place for her insolence and had even gained the smiles of some of her bannermen. “Lord Tyrion is right. We must fight together now. Or die.” Her lover sat back down.

“Yes,” Dany added in conclusion. “Though we all may be from very different backgrounds and origins, we are one people now, united against the greatest threat to ever exist in our world. The status of your birth… does not matter. The color of your skin… does not matter. The land you are from… does not matter. Nothing matters but life and preserving it.”

A few _ Here, Here! _ s followed Dany’s words and when Tyrion caught her eye, she gave the nod, signaling to him that it was okay to stand, allowing the rest of the room to follow suit and exit. Though while some made hasty retreats, like Lady Stark, some stayed behind and approached her, wanting to see the Queen up close, and greet her in person. Many merely muttered their _ pleasure to meet you _ s and _ thank you for coming to our aid _s. But others had a few more words for her, some which Dany found encouraging and amusing.

“I still think the North should be independent,” Lady Mormont began her eyes dancing mischievously, “But if our King had to bend the knee, at least it was to a woman who knows how to count.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter than I'm used to writing, but this fic is very concentrated on Dany so it really doesn't need to be any longer. Later chapters are lengthier for more story-elements but first couple are very short. 
> 
> IDK about posting timeline. All chapters are at least started so there's that. And yes, as always, I am also working on my other fics, though don't have a posting timeline for those either.


	2. Episode 2: What About The North?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany forgives Ser Jaime and offers Lady Sansa her heart's desire.

** _The Great Hall_ **

“What does the Warden of the North say about it?” 

“We need every man we can get.”

“Very well.” She nodded to Grey Worm so he could give the man back his sword.

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

“I don’t hate you for murdering my father, Ser Jaime,” Dany added as Grey Worm turned to walk away from the one-handed Lannister. She felt all eyes in the room, including Jon’s and Sansa’s, turn her way. Ser Jaime tilted his head in confusion, obviously sure he’d heard her wrong. But he hadn’t. Dany didn’t hate Lannister for killing her father, much as she had enjoyed letting him sweat over it. 

“My brother Viserys was too young to be able to recognize what my father was. So while his stories included things like… my father giving him sweets each time he got the names of all the Targaryen dragons correct, they excluded things like the way my father used to laugh as he burned men alive with wildfire. Or how he would rape my mother afterward, with his loyal Kingsguard standing watch outside, wishing they could burst in and put a stop to it, but unable to do so.” Lannister blushed at her words and looked down at his feet. Several northerners looked around at each other and back to Jaime, as if not sure whether to believe  _ he _ was one of the Kingsguard who had wished to stop her father from brutalizing her mother. But Tyrion had told her the stories. And now Dany would make sure others knew as well.

“I know what my father was. I know the Mad King earned his name. I also know his last orders, before you killed him, were to ignite the caches of wildfire he had hidden throughout the city of King’s Landing. An act which would have resulted in the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people. An act that you stopped. And sacrificed your reputation for, thereafter being known as the Kingslayer.”

Now the entire hall was abuzz with murmurs about Ser Jaime and her father. She knew what they were thinking. Could it be true? Was the Kingslayer actually a man of honor? Was he a savior rather than an oathbreaker? Was he a hero?

“For the crime of murdering your King, my father, I pardon you, and I forgive you, Ser Jaime. And for saving the population of King’s Landing — though oddly at times I don’t believe the people deserved it—” A few horrified faces met Dany’s but she pushed on, “—with the way I’ve been told the city cheered for Ned Stark’s head… or the way they turned on  _ innocents _ like Lady Sansa and tried to rape her in the street when the boy king Joffrey was starving them—” Sansa looked down into her lap and the Northerners looked rightfully outraged.  _ Good. _ Dany needed them in such a state if she wanted their enthusiastic support when it came time to turn her eye south to defeat Cersei. “Still, I’m sure  _ some _ of them were innocent people. So for saving the city, I will allow you to keep your knighthood and name you to your proper position as Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West. I hope you can understand though how I will not be renaming you to serve on my Queensguard.”

Ser Jaime and the attending Northerners looked stunned at Dany’s generosity and her tale. She needed these people to know the truth. She needed them to know she set herself apart from her father and her family. And she also needed them to be reminded of who the real enemies were. Ser Jaime was here to fight with them. His sister was noticeably absent. Those who helped the cause were rewarded under Dany. Liars and schemers would pay a very heavy price. And the Queen hoped her Northerners would want to help her extract that price from Cersei, once the time came. 

“You are very generous, Your Grace.” 

“I do not, however, forgive you for the other crimes you committed against House Targaryen,” Dany went on and Jaime balked. “You may have been in the right in killing my father. But you also broke the vows you swore to the rest of my family. Because of your negligence, my good sister Elia Martell was raped and murdered by the Mountain. And her children, my niece Rhaenys and my nephew Aegon—” for some reason she noticed Jon twitch at her side at her words — “were butchered, their killers pardoned by the usurper Robert Baratheon. And of course, there was Viserys and me, forced to flee to the free cities in Essos and grow up on the streets because we had no one to protect us.” 

Lannister and the rest of the hall stared at her stupidly, many a mouth hanging agape. But it was true. If Jaime had protected Elia and the children, if her family had been allowed to live… Her mother might even still be alive because she would have been cared for properly during her pregnancy with Dany. Everything would have been different. 

“For the vows you broke, for your failure to protect the innocent in my family, I swear you this: If you should fail my House… or House Stark again, if you should double cross us or try to return to serve your horrid sister, I’ll burn you alive.” The hall erupted into loud murmurs of agreement and praise at Dany’s words. _ Good. _ They knew where she stood. And they knew what would happen to anyone who would dare cross her, without her having to threaten anyone else aside from Lannister. 

“You are dismissed, Ser Jaime.” 

Dany knew as soon as she stood that Jon would leave, yet she looked to him anyway. He had been avoiding her since last night, not coming to her chamber when he had told her earlier at the Waterfall that he would. Something was wrong. Something he didn’t want to speak with her about, not yet anyway. She guessed it was his family and Dany knew if she would ingratiate herself with them, she would have to start making nice sooner rather than later. 

Sansa would be easy to find, but Arya… the elusive little wolf. Dany had been eager to meet her based on the love and praise Jon had described her with on their journey to Winterfell. But the only time she had spotted the Stark girl, she was milling around the smithy, making eyes at the Baratheon bastard as he carried in a basket load of fresh dragonglass to forge, his biceps bulging enough to make even Dany raise an appreciative eyebrow. It amused her. 

If she legitimized Gendry, perhaps he and Arya could marry. An alliance between the Stormlands and the North - an alliance that should have taken place years ago but her wretched brother had ruined with his lustful ways. But perhaps a love doomed in one generation would flourish in the next. Gendry and Arya could be Robert and Lyanna come again, except rather than the marriage being arranged, Dany guessed it could be a love match more than anything. The thought made her smile.  _ Young love. _ She only wished  _ her _ love would get the fuck over whatever was bothering him and finally confide in her. The dead would be here any day and she didn’t want to waste time leading up the battle being at odds with him. 

** _Dany’s Chambers_ **

Dany started toward her chambers, knowing she wanted a cup of wine to steady herself with before she sought out Sansa to try and make peace with the girl. They had been at odds since Dany had arrived but during Ser Jaime’s trial, it was almost like the girl was making  _ some _ kind of effort. She had agreed with Dany momentarily, actually uttering the words, “You’re right.” Dany didn’t like her much better but at least this was something. 

However, after Dany had finished her glass and was just about to seek Sansa, out, a knock on her door disrupted the speech she was practicing to herself. 

_ Jorah. _

She knew Tyrion had put him up to this little impromptu lecture about forgiveness and his  _ brilliant mind. _ She would forgive Jorah for being taken advantage of by the imp. And she would forgive Tyrion, for now, openly, publicly. But she would watch him all the same. 

Tyrion had a way about him of manipulating people. Jorah, Varys, Jon. While Dany often considered Tyrion’s manipulations to be an asset of his, she wondered how often he had used his snake-like tongue against her without her knowing. Cersei was a mistake. A severe one. One too severe for a man as clever as Tyrion claimed. She had loved her brother once. Even mourned him after his death. So she could understand if Tyrion had lingering familial feelings for his sister. But still. Wishing his family not to die and believing in them blindly were two very different things. Tyrion was always skeptical. Why had his skepticism failed him when it came to his own family, whom he had admitted to her had tried to kill him on numerous occasions?

She told Jorah she would forgive Tyrion. 

But she let the bite enter her voice just a bit when Jorah mentioned Sansa, the person she had been just on her way to see when Jorah came to her room. Did they all think her a petty child? Jorah and Tyrion, maybe perhaps even Jon. Did they think her completely incapable of getting by on her own, solving her own little problems with the snooty and troublesome nobility? 

Jorah looked taken aback, his mouth bobbing open and closed.

“I already know how to handle Sansa Stark.”

“What will you say to her, Your Grace?” Jorah asked curiously.

“I’m going to offer her what she desires most,” Dany explained simply. “If she asks for it.”

** _The Library_ **

“What about the North?” Dany pursed her lips at the Stark girl’s insolent question. Though she knew it was coming, it still didn’t make it any easier to hear. If Dany were being honest, it made her just the slightest bit disappointed in Sansa Stark. “It was taken from us and we took it back and we swore we’d never bow to anyone else again. What about the North?” 

It still irritated Dany to see the Stark lady so blatantly going behind her brother’s back in order to air her complaints. She let go of Sansa’s hand and Sansa smirked, as if knowing she had been right about Dany all along, another piece of evidence for the redhead to perpetuate the narrative that Dany was a power-hungry tyrant who wished to subjugate the North to her rule.

“Your Grace. My lady,” Maester Wolkan interrupted, but Dany wasn’t done with the young Stark girl yet. 

“Maester Wolkan, if you’d be so kind as to give us a few more minutes, we’re in the middle of an important discussion,” Dany told the man and turned her back to him, blocking him out and surprising Sansa greatly.  _ Good. _ Dany wanted her to be on uneven footing for this. Once she heard the library door close behind Wolkan, Dany began.

“Northern Independence,” she said as sincerely as she could. “Your brother Robb died fighting for the freedom of his people, did he not?”

“He did, Your Grace,” Sansa answered, her tone suspicious yet curious. 

“I have always believed in the importance of people fighting for what they believe in,” Dany went on, and she could see the hope building in Sansa’s eyes. For the good of the people, there was a small part of Dany that hoped she was wrong about Sasna. After all, if the Stark girl agreed to her radical proposal, her work was done and she’d have no need to maintain dominion over the North anyway. But she knew in her heart that the Stark girl was selfish and couldn’t give a fig about her own people. Dany just needed the proof.

“You say the Northerners have fought too hard and lost too much to ever kneel to anyone else again.”

“Yes, Your Grace. Just as your family was torn apart by the Lannisters, the North has suffered at their hands as well. We’ve fought war after war and now we just want to be left in peace.” Dany almost believed Sansa believed what she was saying. But it was time to dig her claws in.

“You know, when I defeat Cersei and I rule from King’s Landing, I don’t believe your brother will wish to spend much time here at Winterfell. With Jon gone…”

“I ruled in Jon’s absence while he was treating with you on Dragonstone,” Sansa pitched in, Dany recognizing immediately the lustful glint in her eyes. She smiled, though not for Sansa. 

“Yes. Yes you did,” Dany agreed and the Stark girl sat up a little straighter, likely already planning the design for her coronation gown and crown. She reached out for her again and Sansa, surprisingly, covered Dany’s hand with her other hand. Dany would make her pay. This insolent little schemer. She had never met Lord Petyr Baelish but from what Varys and Tyrion had told her, Sansa had learned well from him. 

“Despite my family name and colored family history, I am not a tyrant, Lady Sansa. And all I want is what’s best for all the people of this continent, even if it means that I would not be their Queen.”

“I don’t believe you are a tyrant,” Sansa smiled, giving Dany’s hand a little squeeze, and Dany had to take a deep, steadying breath so as to keep the charade going just a bit longer. “You are  _ smart,” _ Sansa complimented. Gods, Dany could slap the smugness right off her pointy little face, but she didn’t. “You want what’s best for everyone and that is a rare quality in a Queen. Another characteristic we share.” Sansa thought herself a  _ Queen _ . Sansa thought herself Dany’s equal.  _ Little bitch.  _ Dany widened her smile and narrowed her eyes, but the gesture was as insincere as Sansa’s. Though Sansa didn’t know it yet.

“I want the people of the North to be happy,” Dany began and Sansa nodded her head in agreement. 

“So do I, Your Grace.” 

“I want the people of the North to have a  _ choice,” _ Dany went on, and again, Sansa nodded.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“And if what’s best for the North is that they never have to kneel again, then it seems we both know what must happen.” Sansa excitedly gave Dany’s hand another squeeze.

“Your Grace, I promise, you will not reg—”

“The people of the North will elect their own rulers once the dead and Cersei Lannister are defeated.” It took the Stark girl a moment to process what Dany had said, but slowly, as the meaning of the words became clear to her, Sansa’s smile faltered. 

“I—what?” 

“I did it in Meereen. We instated a general election when I left so that the people  _ truly _ had a voice in the matter of their own governance.” Sansa’s eyes bulged as the full realization of what she had inadvertently agreed to hit her.

“The  _ people _ —”

“It could be easily done, not to worry my dear,” Dany went on as if she didn’t notice Sansa’s pending meltdown. “We divide the north into various geographic regions and have the people — Lords, knights, land owners, non-land owners, common folk, even the Free Folk who choose to remain this far south,  _ women _ — have them all elect a leader from their region. And those who are elected from each area will rule the North, not as Kings and Queens, but as  _ true _ representatives of the voices of the people. And after they serve for a given time, the people will elect their replacements.” Sansa’s smile finally fully soured. “So that no one in the North ever need kneel again. To a Targaryen…” Dany looked Sansa up and down. “Or otherwise.”

The redhead looked away from Dany then, and she knew the girl was fighting with every fiber of her being not to make a scene. She could see the outburst building in Sansa but the young Stark girl controlled it well enough. 

“That is my one and only condition. If the North complies and swears to allow its people the right to choose their own leaders, I will grant you all the independence you have so fiercely fought for. What say you, Lady Stark?” Sansa turned back to Dany, the most ridiculous scowl maring her face. She didn’t even wait for Dany to grant her leave, just stood, pushing her chair back and stalked out of the room, the epitome of an entitled brat who hadn’t got her way. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, no Jonerys in this chapter either, not really. But don't worry. Next chapter is wonderfully smutty. Not sure when it will be posted but I'd say about 3/5ths of it is written. 
> 
> For those interested, the Instinct novella will be officially published one week from tomorrow!! :D
> 
> As always, comments is moniez for fic authors so if you liked, feel free to show some love.
> 
> Also, I should note, I am not a supporter of the bullying that has happened to the fic author FireSign. I stand firm with her. It is her fic and she has every right to write what she wishes. Anyone reading my fics who has left hate on hers and said horrific things to her, please leave. I do not need your readership.


	3. Episode 4: We Can Live Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany enjoys the feast a little more. Dany enjoys Jon a LOT more. The smut that was promised.

** _Episode 4: We Can Live Together_ **

_ A/N: As stated, we’re skipping Episode 3 because there’s no real dialogue there anyway. And yes, if you’re keeping track of the chapter count, this means there will be a chapter set after Episode 6. _

** _The Feast_ **

“What kind or person climbs on a fucking dragon? A madman? Or a king!” She watched Jon as Tormund spoke, waiting for him to correct the bearded, ginger wildling. He turned back to her and smiled, as if asking for approval. She raised her cup to him, congratulatorily. But she had sat by long enough while these oafs went on and on about her beloved and ignored her. She was not a fan of the North but damnit, they would respect her, even the wildling whose life she had saved. She would not let him forget it any time soon.

“You forget, Tormund Giantsbane,” Dany began, and all the men turned toward her blurry-eyed, as she leaned back in her chair and twiddled her wine cup absentmindedly. “Just who exactly was riding dragons well before your _ little crow _ here, who _ taught _ him how to ride one, and who encouraged him to ride one in the first place.” All of their faces froze, the drink taking them a minute to catch up to her words. Jon at least, had the grace to look ashamed of himself. Of course he should be ashamed of himself. Sitting there with his pals, drinking, ignoring her, letting them lavish attention onto him and credit him with her victories. The bastard. 

Tormund blinked a few times, likely trying to see her straight, but when his eyes finally focused, he erupted in laughter and stumbled over to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and spilling a considerable amount of wine on her lap, but she just smirked at the men he had been talking to. Now he was hers. 

“Dragon Queen!” Tormund bellowed, when his voice finally found him again. “Look how little she is! Look at her!” He shook her shoulder and the men he had been talking to started laughing. “She’s littler than Snow! Is it a requirement that dragon riders be so fucking small?” His audience clutched their stomachs, his words much funnier to them than they were to her as she was still nursing her first cup of wine. “THAT’S why Snow chose you. You’re the only woman he doesn’t have to climb!”

“Tormund,” Jon warned in a low voice but Dany’s smile only widened. She very much liked Tormund’s ribbing. _ Now. _

“Did I tell you all of the time this little dragon queen here came to save us beyond The Wall?” Dany took a sip of her wine. So she wouldn’t have to remind him of that after all. _ Good boy Tormund. _ “We were all fucking freezing. Middle of that lake. No food. No fire. Nothing to fuck for miles around but each other—”

_ “Tormund,” _ Jon chastised, his voice louder, sterner, but Dany snickered audibly, just to piss him off, and Tormund continued, clinging to her as he did. 

“The dead started attacking. I was swinging that axe. Nearly died six times!” Dany knew that was a lie, but was eager to hear the rest of _ his _ version of the story. “I thought we were dead! Then.” He paused dramatically. “THEN.” He looked down at Dany and shook her again. “This tiny little queen on that big fucking dragon swoop in.” He mimed dragons swooping with his hand, spilling more wine. “Nearly pissed meself! And this one—” He pointed to Jon. “You shoulda seen his face. Lookin’ at her like he was a maid, watchin’ his knight in shining armor ride in t’save him.” Jon rolled his eyes and she could see his jaw clench. “Be honest Snow, how hard was your cock when your ran up to her on that fucking dragon? He ran toward a fucking dragon! She was the first woman within a thousand miles and he wasn’t going to let the army of the dead or a fucking dragon get in the way!” 

“Tormund, you’re leaving out the best part?” Dany interjected and they all looked at her, Jon’s nostrils flaring, likely wondering just what fresh hell she was going to add to the story to further embarrass him. Dany stood and put her arm around Tormund’s back with one hand, touched his chest with the other. “You’re forgetting to tell them that _ you _ climbed on the back of my _ fucking _ dragon.” The men all stared between her and Tormund in amazement. “YOU rode a fucking dragon,” she added for good measure.

“I DID!” Tormund remembered. “I rode a fucking dragon!” There was wine and sour goat’s milk everywhere as the wildlings cheered Tormund. She smirked again. Her work here was done.

“And he was a natural at it!” Dany concluded to more cheers, setting her still half-full wine cup back down on the table. “Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I think I have had just a bit too much to drink and I will surely embarrass myself if I stay a moment longer.”

“To the Dragon Queen!” Tormund cried one more time and those in the hall who had been sober enough to comprehend him raised their cups enthusiastically, many clapping her on the back as she passed through on her way out. As she left, she only turned around once to look back at Jon, noting with some pleasure that his eyes were on her already, likely had been tracking her the whole time. 

They stared at each other for a moment and she didn’t know at all what was going through his head. But he finally broke, his face softening to the expression he often wore when they were alone in bed together. She felt her lips tug into an affectionate smile and he did the same, raising his cup to her as she had done him before. She nodded, and with that, left for her chambers, hoping she wouldn’t have to wait too long before he came and found her. 

** _Jon_ **

_ A/N: We switch over to Jon’s POV for the rest of the chapter as I thought it was necessary to show this from his perspective. He will get more POV time in future chapters as well. _

“You are my Queen. _ Nothing _ will change that. And they are my family. We can live together.”

“We can,” she told him coldly. “I’ve just told you how.” He let go of her then, unable to keep touching her when they light had left her eyes so. It was a disturbing image. He knew he hated to see her like this but in his inebriated state, had no idea how to fix her. 

Surely, she had to understand. She had to know why. He owed Sansa and Arya the truth as much as he had owed Dany. She deserved to know that her brother wasn’t some monster and kidnapping rapist, and Sansa and Arya deserved to know that Ned Stark was never unfaithful to his wife. Dany had to understand that, yet she was walking away from him, toward the door, she was angry, she was leaving. _ She was leaving? _

“Are you kidding me?” Jon blurted stupidly, though not caring the drink had gone to his head. Dany stopped and spun on her heel, her face an emotion Jon couldn’t drunkenly name except to know that it was _ not good. _Still, he had a right to be angry too. She wasn’t hearing him. And perhaps that was because he wasn’t properly articulating himself due to the drink but still, he would make her understand. 

“I told you I owe them the truth,” Jon got out the first thing that came to mind, even if it wasn’t particularly eloquent. “I owe them the truth like I owed you the truth.” Yes, that was closer to what he wanted to say. 

Dany raised a single sarcastic eyebrow in response. “And I told _ you _ I didn’t want to know,” Dany shot back, folding her arms across her chest. _ Damnit, _ why had he drunk so much wine and sour goat’s milk at the feast? _ How to respond to her? _ “I don’t want to live with the knowledge that the man I love has a better claim to my throne than I do because when things happen like what happened tonight with Tormund…” She paused and he thought he could see tears well in her eyes again. “It’s not just innocent jokes anymore. It’s knowledge that could actually cause me _ harm.” _

“I had to tell you,” Jon went on, hoping his point would remember itself because he certainly wasn’t remembering. “I had to tell you about Rhaegar…” _ There it is! Keep going. Rhaegar...Rhaegar...something about Rhaegar… _ “You thought he raped her. Raped my aunt. My mother. _ Lyanna. _ He didn’t. You told me about Viserys. I didn’t want you to think both your brothers were bad people.”

Daenerys looked taken aback at this. Whatever she had been expecting him to say, Jon knew she wasn’t expecting this. “Jon I… I appreciate you wanting to help me see my brother in a better light. But you have to understand…” _ You have to understand. What you have to understand is… _ She was speaking to him as he had once spoken to Lyanna Mormont. As he usually spoke to children. She was speaking to him like he was a child. _ She was speaking to him like he was a child! _ “You have to understand how incendiary and damaging this information is. How this information could harm _ me—” _

“Goddsdamnit, Dany, there is more to life than the fucking Iron Throne which I’ve already told you, I don’t want it!” Jon exclaimed, breathing harshly after his outburst, glad he had finally had the stones to say what needed to be said. What the fuck did the Iron Throne matter anyway? They had beat the dead. They were alive. He could just as well have fucked off now. Lived in some lovely little remote picturesque location, like their waterfall, for the rest of his days. Peace. Still. Quiet. Calm. Why was she so stuck on the tiny, miniscule detail that _ he _ had the better claim to a throne he didn’t even want? It was hers! He had bent the knee! 

Dany’s eyes looked ready to bulge out of their sockets but Jon would get this off his chest. He had to, while he still remembered it. “I’ve told you a thousand times, I don’t want it. I bent the knee after you asked me to do so a thousand times too. And when I’m just tryin’ to do the right thing with my family, you come in here and start in about the fuckin’ Iron Throne and how my existence is _ damaging _ to you and you get all mad at me and try to storm off when I just—”

“Are _ you _ kidding me?” Dany cut in and Jon wasn’t quite sure what _ she _ was so angry about. He had been there for her this whole time, reassuring her that he didn’t want to be King, trying to remind everyone who would listen that she was the queen, that she was worthy. And all she could do was make this about the godsdamn _ Iron Throne? _

“Wha—”

“I am not a toy!” Dany screeched, and for once, Jon was rendered speechless. What in Seven Hells was she talking about? “I’m not mad at you for wanting to be honorable and tell your family the truth. I’m mad at you for the way you’ve treated me tonight! Like I’m some whore who’s your lay-of-the-week. I didn’t come here to fight with you, I came here tonight to see if you still loved me. And this is what I get. One moment you want me. You kiss me, you hold me, you push your cock up against me. And then the next moment you push me away. The moment you _ remember _ the truth.

“If you don’t want me anymore, if you don’t love me anymore, then at least have the stones to say it and we can put this aside and move on. I will hate you for it but at least I can respect it.” She took a shuddering breath, tears in her eyes again and it made his insides twist with guilt. That was just it. He _ did _ love her still. Thought he always _ would _ love her, even now. Even knowing what they were to each other. “I’m not angry for you wanting to right Arya and Sansa’s opinion on your father.” She took in a deep, shuddering breath, trying to find the right words. “But you can’t just kiss _ me, _ touch _ me, _ start taking _ my _ clothes off, and then push me away as if you’re disgusted by me. Because as I recall, you were the one who pulled _ me _ in. I didn’t even try to touch you until you moved first.”

“Dany I’m s—”

“I know you’re sorry. You should be!” She sat down on the edge of his bed and turned away from him, quickly wiping a few tears from her cheeks. “You can’t have this both ways, Jon. You can either find some way to come to terms with this and accept it, or we end this. But you need to figure it out and figure it out quick, because I will not just allow myself to be something for you to squeeze when you’re drunk enough only to be cast aside when you sober up.” She turned back to look at him, now disgust on _ her _ face. “You go on about your sisters, cousins rather, and what you owe them but you are forgetting, ** _I_ ** am your family too. And I deserve the same respect you pay to them.” He nodded, unable to think of anything to say. “Even if you are only my nephew,” she added absentmindedly, but the word made Jon wince. _ Nephew. _ Because she was his _ aunt. _ Like Lord Stark was his uncle. Dany was his _ aunt _ ...by _ blood. _

“What?” she asked, snapping his attention back to her. “Don’t like that?” She got up from his bed and slowly stalked towards him. “Don’t like being called _ nephew?” _ she taunted. Embarrassed and slightly repulsed by what she was saying, he turned away. He couldn’t face this. “You _ are _ my nephew,” she told him quietly, standing inches from him. “And I am your aunt. Your aunt Dany.” 

“Dany please,” he squeezed his eyes shut, knowing it wouldn’t stop him from hearing her but at least he couldn’t see her while she said these true yet horrible things. He could feel her warmth come closer, her breaths tickled his neck. 

“You have _ kissed _ your aunt Dany.” He breathed out sharply. Was she really doing this? 

“You have _ touched _ your aunt Dany.” Yes, yes she was. 

“You have _ tasted _ your aunt Dany.” And the worst part was, the most sickening thing of all, as she said them, his traitorous cock started to harden again. 

“You’ve had your cock _ inside _ your aunt Dany. Inside her _ cunt, _ inside her _ mouth.” _ And gods, what that mouth had done to him… “Which did you like better, _ nephew? _ Coming inside your aunt Dany’s cunt? Or coming inside your aunt Dany’s mouth?” His eyes snapped open, jaw clenched, nostrils flared. He couldn’t tell if he was more angry or more aroused. _ Godsdamn her! _

“What would you do if I left this room right now,_ nephew?” _ she asked, slowly trailing a finger down his chest. “Would you strip off all your clothes and get into bed? Take your cock in hand and tug on it like a green boy, thinking about me, like you used to do back on Dragonstone when we first met? Thinking about fucking your _ aunt Dany?” _

The worst part about her accusations was that they were true. His cock had never been harder and she had noticed. She leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his neck as she ran her hand over his clothed length. _ “Dany,” _ he pleaded, not quite sure what he was pleading for. 

_ “Do you want aunt Dany to help you with this, nephew?” _ Yes. Yes he did. Slowly, reluctantly, hating himself for doing it but being completely unable to stop, he nodded. She wrapped a hand around his neck and placed another kiss to his throat, giving his cock a little squeeze. _ “Say it.” _ She was cruel. She was mad, possibly. But gods, he didn’t even care anymore. And if she was mad, so was he. 

“I want you,” he growled into her ear, finally allowing himself to touch her, reaching down and squeezing her ass roughly. 

_ “Say it,” _ she insisted, reaching down to pluck at the laces of his trousers with one hand, the other still stroking slowly up and down his cock. “Say it or I’ll stop.” No, gods no, she couldn’t stop. He would do anything. But the words… 

“I want to fuck you,” he hedged, leaning down and biting her neck, making her moan. 

_ “Say it, Jon.” _ Her hand slipped inside his trousers and wrapped around his girth, slowly pumping up and down, making his hips sway a little as he thrust into her. _ “Say you want to fuck your aunt Dany.” _

He took several deep, steadying breaths, inhaling her scent, still kneading her ass, grinding his cock into her warm, clever little hand. He swallowed and pulled away to look at her pretty face. The face of the woman he loved more than any other. “I don’t _ want _ to fuck my aunt Dany,” he growled at her. She lifted a single brow and her hand stopped. “I am _ going _ to fuck my aunt Dany.”

With that, he lifted her and crashed their lips together, both of them frantically trying to rid the other of all the wretched clothes separating them. Her legs had wrapped around his and he heard her kick her boots off as he tripped and stumbled out of his own. She was using her feet to shimmy his trousers and small clothes over and off his ass and he was grappling under her skirts, trying to find the ties to her own pants with one hand, holding her up with the other.

He felt the side of the bed hit his knees and he dropped her back onto it, yanking down her breeches and small clothes, pushing up her skirts and mounting her, not even bothering to remove their upper layers, though she began plucking at the ties of his gambeson all the same. He didn’t care though. Her legs were spread, his cock was out, and that was all he needed. With no preamble and little warning, he lined his length up to her dripping, sweltry entrance, and shoved himself inside her, Dany’s hands clutching the front of his clothing, head falling back, and she moaned loud enough for the whole of Winterfell to hear. 

_ Fuck, fuck, gods, fuck, shit, fuck! _ It had been weeks since he had been inside her and he had already been so close to the edge with her stroking him and saying all those vile, wicked things. He bit his lip and clenched his eyes shut, willing himself not to come. He wanted to savor this. Wanted to revel in it, wallow in it. He was a _ true _ Targaryen now. Kin fucker. Aunt fucker. But what the hells did it matter when it felt this _ good? _

_ “Careful nephew,” _ she warned, nipping his bottom lip and his eyes snapped open. _ “You come before me and I’m going to be very cross with you.” _ As she said it, she pulled the laces of the top half of her dress, shucking out of it and pulling down the straps to her slip, exposing her tits. _ “You don’t want your aunt Dany to have to punish you later, do you?” _

Jon huffed out a little laugh and leaned down, thrusting his tongue into her willing and smiling mouth, allowing her to shuck off the rest of their clothing in between his leisurely thrusts. 

It wasn’t so much them making love as them reacquainting themselves with each other and with their newfound relation. She would whisper in his ear, _ “Nephew,” _ and he would whisper back, _ “Yes, my love, my aunt,” _ kissing under her jaw, licking a circle around her nipple, suckling there like a babe as he fucked her, not caring an ounce that they shared blood. She was his Queen. She was his lover. She was his aunt Dany. 

And when he watched her come, writhing and crying out underneath him, he knew he would never have their relation any other way. They were Targaryens. _ The last Targaryens. _ He would get her with his child. He would fill her up with his cum. Mark her as his. _ “Mine,” _ he whispered as he released his seed inside of her. _ “You’re mine.” _

They lay in the lazy afterglow of their lovemaking, and though Jon’s head was still swimming with his fabulously powerful orgasm and all the drink from the feast, he still felt the need to make something clear to Dany.

“Alright, my Queen. You win.”

“I know I won,” Dany taunted playfully. “But what _ specifically _ did I win?” she asked him.

Jon chuckled. “No. I mean, you win. About Sansa and Arya. I won’t tell them now. I do want to tell them eventually. But not until a more opportune moment of your choosing.”

Dany sat up, her hand on his chest, her face a mixture of emotions. “Truly?” she asked, breathing lightly, as if anything more powerful would crack the moment and his promise.

“Truly. I swear it. I’m yours, remember? And I promise to be yours, until the end of our days.” Dany’s eyes swam with tears as she lowered her head back down to his chest and kissed the scar above his heart.

“Then I accept your pledge, _ Jon Targaryen. _ You will be my King. You _ are _ my King. Now and always.” He loved when she echoed his words back to him. _ Her King. _ He would be her King. She his Queen. That was how it was always meant to be. Ser Alliser had told him he would be fighting battles forever. But so long as he had his Queen by his side, he didn’t suppose it seemed such a terrible fate. It was a perfect moment, basking in her arms, thinking about the future.

In retrospect, the only thing he would have changed was that he would have made himself sober so he might remember this promise… 

_ A/N: I’m officially a self-published author! Thank you to everyone who’s left kind words on this and all my other fics. Without your guys’ support and encouragement, I never would have been brave enough to branch out so thank you thank you thank you! _

_ A/N2: Not as positive, but I have to say it. This fic is for me and for those who are enjoying it. If this fic is not going the way you wish it to, I’m sorry but I will not change the style to suit your specific tastes. There is a back button. If you do not like this fic’s direction, consider this your invitation not to comment. I’m getting just a bit tired of the “This should have happened instead,” or “You should give character X more to say/do/etc.” No. I shouldn’t. This is my fic and the tags make it _ ** _very_ ** _ clear the purpose and intent of it. _

_ Authors do not write _ ** _for_ ** _ their audience. They write and share _ ** _with_ ** _ their audience. If you want to see a fic where, say, Jon gets the last word and has more lines than just, “Ur mah Queen,” then write it! As I’ve stated, I already wrote “Jon’s Rant” and this fic isn’t even anti-Jon or anti-Jonerys. It’s very much pro-Jonerys as Jonerys is endgame, spoiler-not-spoiler. And Pro-Dany or Dany-centric does _ ** _not_ ** _ mean anti-Jon. I’m tired of that accusation. Most of my other fics are Jon-centric and Jon POV ffs! I felt like writing from Dany’s POV for a change. Give me an effing break. _

_ ….sorry about the rant. Just tired of *some* readers acting like they’re entitled to controlling what and how I and other authors write our stories. To everyone else who’s left positive comments and is enjoying this, thank you for being a lovely reader! _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes, in this version, Jon actually promises Dany he won't tell Arya and Sansa yet so that when he does actually tell them, it really is a betrayal. Because in canon, Jon never made such a promise to Dany so when she says "he betrayed me," it doesn't make much sense. No, he didn't betray her, he just didn't do what she asked. Anyway, canon is dumb. This is better. :D


	4. Episode 5: I Love You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dany and Jon argue over Varys's execution. Dany decides the fate of King's Landing.

_ A/N: Slight depiction of domestic violence in this chapter, both in actions and in character’s thoughts. But please note, I wrote this with my love for Dany in mind. I just really wanted to get inside her head and this is what came out. This is probably (definitely) the darkest I’ve ever written Dany before, especially since this chapter explains why Dany burnt King’s Landing. As this is from Dany’s POV, this is my interpretation of why Dany did what she did and how Dany justifies it to herself. You can love it or hate it but I have no regrets. She and we will come out the other side of this fic, I promise! _

** _The Chamber of the Painted Table_ **

“I love you,” he told her and Dany hated how her heart flickered with hope at his words. The last week had been the worst of her life and hearing his rough Northern burr caress those words in such a way and direct them at her made her feel a tiny bit less empty. A tiny bit more whole again. 

But then she watched him second guess himself. Watched the question enter his eyes.  _ I thought we were past this. _ “And you will always be  _ my Queen.” _

She hated him. She knew it with every fiber of her being, she hated him. The first time he had uttered the words to her, _“how about _**_my Queen?”_** she had felt nothing but love and hope. Now each time he called her his _Queen,_ it felt like a knife in the heart. She knew why he said it. It was a consolation prize. Apparently, even after their blissful tryst in Winterfell, he still took issue with the fact that they were kin. He still saw her as only his blood and that was bad. He was repulsed by her. By them. And if he couldn’t be her lover, he would call her his Queen, as if being able to rule over him was _almost_ as good as feeling his love. _Bastard, you fucking bastard!_

She pushed herself up from her chair by the fire and walked right up, a breath away from his face. “Is that all I am to you?” she asked, taunting him, testing him. “Your  _ queen?” _ Still, though she hated him, she reached for him. Wrapped her arms around him and forced him to kiss her. She needed his lips, his mouth, his warmth. She needed him, much as she wished she didn’t.  _ Love me. Please love me back! _

He pulled away with a labored sigh and she wanted him dead on the spot. Wanted to burn him to a crisp just like Varys. 

“All right then,” she spat bitterly. Where was the man she had fallen in love with? Who was this imposter who stood before her? “Let it be fear.” The idea had taken root the day Sansa Stark had rejected her offer of granting the North its independence and it had only continued to grow. Let it be fear then. Let it be  _ something. _ She was the only one in the world who  _ felt _ this much. The rest of them were numb, desensitized, cold as stone. Well, she had woken life out of stone once before,  _ she could do it again. _

At her words, Jon glared down at her, lips curled as if looking down at a piece of spoilt meat. But he didn’t speak. Just let his eyes skitter away and turned to leave her alone, all alone, as if that wasn’t the one thing that had made this all worse. 

“Don’t you dare walk away from me, Jon Snow,” Dany commanded and a little bit of her preened at the way he spun around, nostrils flaring in anger. She wanted to make him angry. She wanted to look in his eyes and see fire there.  _ The Last Targaryens. _ Only he had a fire to match her own, she was sure of it. Ser Davos had told her of Jon’s escapades on the battlefield. She wanted  _ that _ Jon. The Jon who charged solitarily toward the Bolton cavalry, sword aloft, teeth bared. She wanted the dragon. She wanted the wolf. Yet all she had before her was a useless sheep. She needed the sheep gone. Needed to kill it. She needed her dragonwolf back. 

“Even after all that occured between us back at Winterfell, all the promises, you still can’t bare to touch me?” she asked, accused, spat. She was disgusted with him. This shell of her former lover. Shell of a man. 

_ What is your purpose Jon Snow? Did it die with the Night King? Are you alive? Do you feel? Do you wish to be returned to the dirt? _

“You want me to fuck you after forcing me to watch you burn a man alive?” Jon spat right back, matching her fire. _ _

_ There he is, _ she thought as her hand twitched.  _ There’s a glimmer of my dragonwolf. _ She snarled at him, angrier at him than she had ever been, and she let her body take over, hand rearing back, then flying forward, colliding satisfyingly, stingingly with his lovely face, causing him to stumble back with the force of the  _ smack. _

He recovered quickly, righting himself, back straightening, stiffening. The posture of the perfectly obedient soldier that she didn’t want. But his eyes told a different story. He glared at her, mouth pinched, as if he wanted nothing more than to wrap his hands around her throat and choke the life from her for daring to hit him.  _ There he is, _ she thought again.  _ My dragonwolf.  _

“I don’t want your cock, you arrogant bastard,” she told him, practically breathing fire just like the great scaled beast she rode. “You think me like my father? You think I  _ enjoyed _ watching Varys burn? Actually, I  _ did _ enjoy watching him burn. He deserved that and worse. But I didn’t get  _ sexual _ enjoyment from it and how dare you insinuate that I would. After you heard me at Ser Jaime’s trial mention how my father used to rape my mother after burning alive one of his enemies. How dare you compare me to him. How dare you compare  _ us _ to them.”

“Forgive me,” Jon got out through gritted teeth, and she could see he still had that edge to his glare, still looked as if he wanted to slap her back. She almost wished he would. She certainly wanted to hit him again. Slap him. Punch him. Scratch him, stab him, press him against the flames of the hearth and revel in his shrieks of pain as she watched his pretty face melt away. She wanted to destroy. Wanted to burn. The flames always made everything better. Her dragons. The Dothraki. The army of the dead. Flames were  _ good. _ Flames were  _ safe. _

“You are  _ not _ forgiven,” Dany spat. “I didn’t kiss you because I wanted you to fuck me. I kissed you because I wanted to feel  _ something _ that wasn’t devastating loss. Where is the Jon Snow who held my hand in comfort on a ship between Eastwach and Dragonstone, barely clinging to life but wanting to make sure I was alright after seeing my child murdered before my eyes? I watched another child of mine die horrifically. I watched my best friend beheaded before me and you can’t even look me in the  _ eyes.” _ She hated herself for how her voice cracked on the last word and her eyes began to fill with tears. 

“He was yours too, did you know that? Did you ever take a second to appreciate that?” she asked, turning her back to him to stare into the flames.  _ Flames are safe. _ “Once you mount a dragon and he accepts you, he is yours and you are his. Like a marriage, in that way, though much more magical and a lot of the time, much more meaningful.” She heard him let out another labored sigh behind her but didn’t want to look at him. 

_ Gods, _ she just wanted him to  _ care _ about  _ something. _ It really was as if he had died with the Night King. Perhaps his ego was too fragile. Perhaps the knowledge that his little sister had landing the killing blow rather than him was too much to bear. He was on the edge of something, just as she had been, but she feared if he was pushed over, it would be to an end where there was no going back. Another thing Ser Davos had told her of was his suspicion that Jon had a natural inclination toward his own death. If his choices were between doing something smart, thought out, and less of a risk, and doing something rash that could get him killed, Jon usually chose the latter. Dany had foolishly thought that her love for him would make him embrace life. Even seeing his family again, Arya and Bran.  _ Something. _

But no, her Jon still seemed empty. She had to fill him again. Even if the thing she filled him with was anger and darkness. 

“I...I felt it. When he died,” Jon told her quietly, and it was enough to make Dany turn back around to stare at him. “I didn’t want to tell you because you were his mother for so many years and I had only been his rider a short time. But I felt it. Like the wound in my heart was opening up again.” He touched the spot on his chest where the young steward boy had stabbed him, where Rhaegal had been shot with Euron’s scorpion. 

“Good. I need you to _feel._ I need you to be _angry._ They _took him_ from us. They took your father, your brother, your dragon - _my son._ _Our_ son,” Dany said for emphasis and Jon sighed heavily, again. She didn’t need sighs. She needed rage. “I need you in this. I need you by my side. I need you to feel your anger. Don’t waste your emotions feeling conflicted about our kinship or...or pitying a man like Varys.”

“Dany you burned him alive,” Jon whispered and she could hear how haunted he was in his voice. “Yes, he approached me about my claim but you could have just stuck him in the dungeons. You could have—”

“You’re a fool,” she told him flatly, unemotionally, taking several steps back from him. “You murdered men who betrayed you yet when I do it, suddenly it’s something to make you second guess my sanity?” Her voice rose with every word she spoke, the righteous rage taking over. “I killed Varys for betraying me just as you killed those men of the Night’s Watch for betraying you!”

“That’s different, they killed me!”

“And Varys tried to kill me!” Dany shouted, matching his tone and getting right up in his face again. It had her desired effect. Jon staggered back and furrowed his brow in confusion. 

“What?” he breathed. 

“How do you remove someone from the line of succession?” Dany asked Jon in a voice that was practically a whisper. 

“I...I,” was all Jon could get out. Was he really so ignorant? Was he so blind as to what went on in his own family? Did he not know Sansa at all?

“I told you back in Winterfell that Sansa would want to see me gone and you on the Iron Throne. Did you think by  _ gone _ I merely meant being sent away back to Essos or something equally idiotic? You remove someone from a line of succession by murdering them, Jon.”

“Sansa would never—”

“She already has. She knew as well as I that the only way for you to become King  _ solely _ was if I were dead. And she knew Varys would do the job if he had the knowledge that there was someone out there with a better claim and had better appeal to the Lords of Westeros. All because you’ve got a cock - his exact words, not mine. For a  _ spider _ he really was terrible at knowing when he was being listened in on. That or he just never guessed my Unsullied could speak the Common Tongue.” Dany huffed a humorless laugh. “I told you it didn’t matter what you wanted. People would still work behind my back  _ and _ yours to put you on the Throne.”

“I still don’t understand,” Jon whispered. “Varys only reminded me of my claim. He said nothing about—”

“About the fact that he was having one of the little birds in the kitchen slip  _ tears of Lys _ in my food?” At this, Jon gasped.  _ Gods you are such a fool, Jon Snow! _ “True, he didn’t succeed in murdering me, the way your men succeeded in murdering you. Would you have mourned me, Jon Snow? Would you have cried over my tomb? Would you have begrudgingly taken back King’s Landing and sat the Iron Throne to  _ honor _ my memory and try to do right by  _ my  _ Kingdom?”

“I would never—”

“When the little wench wouldn’t stop going on about how I would waste away if I didn’t eat, I finally sat her down. I told her I would take a bite if she would do so first. She burst into tears. Told me the whole plot. Even about the story they would tell you as well, once you arrived to find that your Queen was dead. They were going to make it look like I had killed myself in grief over Missandei and Rhaegal. They would tell you they were  _ so sorry _ for your loss,” Dany snarled the last bit, imagining it. Imagining the horror on Jon’s face. The glint of recognition as he believed their lies, put it all together. _ Of course, _ he would think.  _ She was so sad, she ended her own life. _

Dany would never. “So tell me now, do you think me mad because I burnt Varys alive? Killed the man who tried to kill me, who betrayed me. Am I mad to you, Jon Snow?”

“No,” Jon said, lowering his gaze submissively, sheepishly.  _ Sheep. _ She had a sheep again. He was a sheep. She didn’t know how to bring the dragonwolf back now. All the fight had gone from him. She could slap him again. She wanted to. Her hand twitched. 

“No,” Dany growled, grabbing him by his leathers. “Not this, anything but this.” She shook him and he looked down at her bewildered. “I don’t need an obedient soldier. I need a  _ KING!” _ She shoved him back but before Jon could catch himself and ask her why, she was on him again, gripping his clothing, pulling him in, pulling him down, took his mouth with hers, the force of it so hard, she knew they’d both be bruised in the morning, but she didn’t care. She craved the pain. Craved blood. Bit him hard to draw it out. 

_ “Dany!” _ Jon barked, taking her wrists, crushing their daintiness with calloused hands, giving her a shake to make her sane, but he couldn’t pull her off. She was  _ too strong for him. _ She huffed out a genuine giggle at the memory of Varys’s words her Unsullied had so dutifully reported back to her. 

Jon wouldn’t come to her so she went to him, pushing to her tip toes and colliding against his mouth, her nip harder this time, his blood entering her mouth, painting her lips harlot red. 

_ “Stop!” _ Jon was quick as lightning, clenched a fist around her braid and yanked her head back hard to stop her from biting him again, but he leaned forward to meet her down there, so they were nose to nose. “Is this what you want?” he snarled, mouth also slashed with red, teeth bared, and she could feel it, the hard length of him pressed against her thigh. Saw it in his eyes, the craze she felt, the lust that boiled her skin, that feral itch that needed to be scratched to make them as one again.

Dany looked at him with eyes wide, chest panting. Her dragonwolf was back. “Yes,” she breathed, in answer to his question. “Yes.” 

In a flash she was on the floor beneath him and his rough hands had joined hers to grope under her skirts for the hem of her breeches, his face buried in her neck, biting her, marking her, leaving bruises on her body like bloodstains on a battlefield. 

_ “You want this?”  _ he growled at her again, and this time she knew he was asking permission, rather than merely clarification. He was checking in with her.  _ Is this okay, are you sure, do you want me to stop? _ But if he stopped now, she knew she just might die from it. 

_ “Take me,” _ she begged him, though she knew she wasn’t ready enough, wasn’t wet enough. It didn’t matter. She needed to feel him. Needed to feel the sting of it. The stretch. The pain. Needed to feel something. And she did. It took four slow twisting thrusts for him to work his way inside her tightness but once he did, she knew everything was going to be alright. Gazing up into his fathomless eyes blown black, she saw him. 

She  _ saw _ him.

He was a wolf. He was a dragon. He was a  _ beast. _

Just. Like. Her. 

** _On the Back of a Dragon..._ **

She had made the decision unconsciously the day she had offered the North it’s freedom and Jon’s wretched sister had refused her like the spoiled brat she was. This world wouldn’t be built by men loyal to the world they had. Dany had known that all along. Had known it from the moment she arrived and it was a message she had received again and again ever since. A message that rang loud and clear as she watched the Mountain behead her best friend while a crowd of curious onlookers whispered behind the gates of the city. Dany had seen them all gathered round as she flew in on Drogon the day Missandei died. It was entertainment for them. Their show for the afternoon. Lunch, a good beheading of a dark-skinned, evil foreigner, then back to work with laughs and jeers. 

The same people who had cheered for Ned Stark’s head. The same people who had spat and thrown rot and shit at a naked and vulnerable Cersei, Yara and Ellaria, tried to rape the young Stark captive, had accepted a Usurper king and forgave him for murdering her good sister, niece and nephew and smiled down at their butchered bodies. Had listened to her lovely brother sing…  _ I never got to hear him sing. They did. They gave him coin to hear him sing, they enjoyed it so much.  _ They had lovingly dubbed Rhaegar  _ The Last Dragon _ .

And yet as the  _ real _ last dragon towered above them, had liberated them from the clutches of a murderer, they stared up at her in horror, but horror she knew would only last a moment, if she let herself be ruled by them. 

Dany had wanted her Kingdom to be beautiful. This was not beauty. This was wicked, warped, depraved, corrupt. These people clung to the old ways, even though the old ways had served them little and less. Everyone else in Westeros would be just the same. As King’s Landing was. As Sansa Stark was. They would refuse her offer of freedom and choice in favor of subjugation and elite pockets of power because it was all they had ever known. Because they didn’t  _ value _ life. 

A city that rejoiced and made an  _ event _ of death. They cheered to see a head roll when they barely knew the soul behind it. They just wanted more. More blood. More  _ spectacle.  _ The bigger, the better. Even this day, this “battle”, they would talk of months from now, laughing about it. Women would fawn over the stories the men would tell of how brave they were, children would giggle at the soldiers they had seen fighting to the death. They had become desensitized to it. 

Always on the fringes, nameless faces in the crowds.  _ “It is no matter to them if the high lords play their game of thrones,” _ Jorah had told her once. She thought she knew what that meant. Thought it meant the people suffered most from the  _ game of thrones. _ But no, not in the way she thought. While the high lords played, the people were left to their own devices, never held to any kind of standard of decency. They killed and raped and stole all because they knew no one was watching. And since no one ever thought of them, they didn’t think of themselves, they didn’t think of each other. Life was meaningless. It meant nothing to them.  _ Nothing. _

Dany would be fighting wars forever. She knew it now. If she allowed this wretched little city to surrender, she would never be done fighting. Her armies and resources would be severely depleted. She would lose her Northern soldiers. Someone would find a way to kill off the remainder of her Dothraki and Unsullied. And then they would find a way to kill off Drogon too, as his brothers had been killed. 

And her reign would come to an end. 

The world she wanted to build would never become. 

The people had to know. They had to know  _ now. _ You don’t fight a dragon. You  _ bow _ to one. 

She didn’t have the strength to fight every petty lord in every little Kingdom over this. They had to know what would happen if they rose up against her, if they disrespected their own lives so much as to taunt the dragon. 

It was the only way.

_ If they ring the bells it means they’ve surrendered. _

She hated it. 

_ You’re a dragon. Be a dragon. _

Hated them.

_ Dracarys. _

For making her do this. 

_ You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you? _

It was the only way.

_ Let it be fear. _   
  


_ A/N: So yes, once again, the middle of this was a case of misunderstanding. Dany thought Jon didn’t want her physically because of the aunt/nephew thing again; Jon thought Dany was getting off on killing Varys and didn’t know about Varys poisoning her. I’m sorry about the cut off smut in the middle. With the headspace of this chapter, it didn’t feel right to do an entire sensual scene with cuddle and all afterward.  _

_ I’m curious to know what you guys think of the way I depicted the burning of King’s Landing. It was a difficult headspace to navigate and get into but I tried to do our girl justice. And as Emilia,  _ ** _I stand by Daenerys._ **


	5. Episode 6: Now And Always

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon finds inner peace. 

_ Song for this chapter: Master of War (GOT S8 Soundtrack) because I felt like it perfectly captured Jon’s emotional journey here and how Dany guides him through it.  _

_ A/N: This chapter is a mix of Jon’s and Dany’s POVs without distinction as to who’s head we’re in at any given moment. I hope it’s not too confusing but it really needed to be written this way to get the whole picture of what was going on with the scene. So basically it’s third person omniscient rather than third person limited, as is usually the case with ASOIAF. _

_ As promised, this is the first chapter where we  _ ** _really_ ** _ diverge from canon in that Daenerys doesn’t die. However, the mindset that caused her to burn King’s Landing is the same mindset she’s still in and will remain in for the duration of the fic. I laid the foundation for this during Ch2 with Jaime’s trial - her comment about perhaps Jaime should have let the city burn - so those who were surprised by last chapter’s events, I really don’t know what to tell you. I’ve been saying from the beginning that Dany would still burn King’s Landing and in Ch4 I gave her actions a rationale - as Dany would, given it was her POV.  _

_ However, because people were upset about this, I have added the tags “Dark!Daenerys” “Dark!Jon”, and “Dark!Jonerys” to this fic. I don’t want to call Dany “Mad” because in this, she isn’t. She has a perfectly good reason - from her perspective - as to why she does what she does - and again, this includes her POV. So if you didn’t enjoy last chapter, you probably won’t enjoy this one. And if you don’t enjoy, there is a back button.  _

_ Also, no, this doesn’t mean I accept S8 canon or believe that any of what went down in this season was at all in character for any of the characters or at all plausible. I don’t. I just kept imagining how certain scenes would have been so much better if Dany had said certain things, things she  _ ** _should_ ** _ have said, and before I knew it, I was writing all that down into a fic. I wanted to see it through to the end, so here I am. Don’t like, don’t read.  _

_ Thanks. _

** _Throne Room of the Red Keep_ **

“You are  _ my Queen. _ Now, and always,” Jon told her and she had to grit her teeth to keep herself from lashing out at him as she so wanted to.  _ So this was it? _ This was how her coward of a lover and nephew wished to end her life. Holding her in his arms, looking her in the eyes and promising himself to her for the rest of time? 

He wasn’t even lying, she could see it in his eyes. She  _ was _ his queen, now and always. But “now and always” didn’t mean much. Jon knew he would die along with her. Either Drogon, or Grey Worm, or one of her bloodriders. Someone would help him finally achieve the only goal he had had since returning from the dead. Possibly, he’d even do it himself. 

He was so  _ sad. _ He was so empty. Emptier than she had been. He had a family, a home, a nation that loved him, and yet none of that mattered. She had successfully, temporarily filled him with her anger and rage but something had snuffed it out again. 

He needed something much more powerful. More powerful than her borrowed emotions. She needed him to have  _ faith. _ She needed to make him  _ see. _

She wanted to kiss him, make him better, but she knew if she did it would be their last. Her only clue from him as to what was about to happen to her, what he was about to do to her, was his words. The words he had repeated since the moment he learned of their shared blood. The words he uttered when he could offer her nothing else. They would be the last thing he was willing to give her. 

But it was all she needed to recognize the truth. 

“Are you going to kill me, nephew?” Dany whispered, and Jon jerked in her arms, his body tensed and ready to strike, now revealed and raw, nowhere to escape to with her having exposed him so. She caressed his cheek with the backs of her fingers before sliding out of his embrace, leaving him standing there in shock. 

“I know what Tyrion asked of you. I told you my Unsullied spoke the Common Tongue.” Jon stared at her stupidly, mouth hanging open. Did either of them really think she was so dumb as to allow them to have a totally private conversation? Her traitorous Hand and her oh-so-noble nephew? 

These men had underestimated her time and time again. 

All Jon could do was stare at her. So she knew. Why then, was she here in the throne room alone, as if waiting for him? Was this the part where she turned on  _ him? _ Was this the part where  _ she _ killed _ him? _ If it was, Jon thought he deserved it. He had been ready to die anyway. Had been ready to die for years. The Lord of Light had brought him back with fire. But Jon knew his own fire had long gone out. Not even Dany’s love could stoke it back to life. 

How was everything so meaningless?

“You killed all those people, Dany,” Jon muttered, knowing it was a half-assed defense. “You said they don’t get to choose. My sisters…” 

“You don’t know your sisters half as well as you think you do, Jon,” Dany told him sadly. He didn’t understand. And he was afraid. If he didn’t make it out of this, gods he hoped Arya and Sansa would. He hoped Dany wouldn’t kill them, but it was all now out of his control. 

“She never told you, did she?” Dany asked him, expression troubled. 

“Tell me what? Who?” Dany sighed, as if the burden she was about to place on him was almost too great to bear. Was it? What had he missed? 

“I told Sansa that I would grant the North its independence.” 

Jon gasped and took several steps back but Dany followed, staying close to him, her face full of regret. 

“I tried to tell you she’s not the girl you once knew, Jon. She is…  _ something _ else.”

“When…? When did you… Why haven’t you told… How can this be?” She approached him like one might a wounded animal, slowly raising her hands to hold him by the arms. Looking up at him like he was an innocent child she wanted desperately to protect from the truth, but couldn’t.

“After Ser Jaime’s trial, I went to speak with her. She confronted me about the governance of the North. How you all had fought so hard and swore never to put your faith in a Southern ruler again.” Jon gritted his teeth and closed his eyes briefly.  _ Godsdamnit. _ It wasn’t her place. It was never Sansa’s place to approach Dany about this. He was the Warden of the North. He had been it’s King.  _ And Sansa always resented me for that, _ a small voice in the back of his mind told him.  _ Was that really all it was ever about? _

“I had a feeling Sansa’s desire for the North’s independence wasn’t entirely noble. So I sought to expose her hypocrisy. I told her I would grant the North its independence as she wished, after Cersei was defeated. She was very excited about the prospect, especially since I hinted that you would remain here in the south with me. She wanted to be a Queen, Jon. That’s all she’s ever wanted. Not because of how hard the North has fought, not for the betterment of its people. She just wanted her crown.”

“But… then, so the North, the North is free now?” Jon asked her, confused.  _ Oh, _ her poor sweet Jon. Dany shook her head sadly.

“I told Sansa I wanted to do what was right for all the North. I wanted its people to have power of their own. Wanted them to have choice. Wanted them to be in control of their own lives and governance. Sansa readily agreed to all of this… until she realized what it meant. When I told Sansa that I would grant the North its independence only if the people would be allowed to vote for their own leaders, Sansa refused. I suppose Northern independence didn’t hold much appeal to her if she couldn’t be guaranteed as the one to rule it.”

Jon exhaled sharply and closed his eyes. An independent North. It was all Sansa ever went on about. She had had it. Right before her grasp. She need only agree to Dany’s proposal and it would have been hers. And she had turned it down. 

“Sansa never wanted the North to be independent for the sake of its people. What would it matter, after all, to a baker or a butcher or a bastard who they called King or Queen? Nothing in their lives would change. The only person it would matter to would be Sansa. And she knew that.” Dany reached forward and took Jon’s hands in her own. “This is what we’re up against. Sansa represents the old world. The old stubborn ways the Lords of Westeros have been clinging to for centuries. They don’t care about the people, Jon. They only care about their own power. It has to end. 

“I told you this would be the last war, and it  _ is. _ It is. It’s done. I promise. I don’t have it in me to fight another one. We don’t have the men, we don’t have the resources, and we don’t have the dragons. I don’t want to fight anymore.  _ I’m tired of fighting. _ It’s all I’ve done since Viserys and I left Pentos with the Dothraki.” At her words, his eyes glassed over momentarily, thinking back.  _ How did she always do that? How could she possibly know? _

“What?” Dany asked at Jon’s perplexion. 

“Nothing. It’s just, I know. I’m tired of fighting too.” He didn’t quite look at her, still searching for an explanation as to why she was always right there with him on everything. Even if they disagreed, even if the disagreement was major,  _ they were the same.  _ They were exactly the same.

Dany could see Jon on a precipice. If she pushed him now, he would fall. She needed him to  _ fly. _ But he was close. Oh so close, she knew. 

“I want to rest. To laugh. To plant trees and watch them grow.” She watched as a small smile fought to break through his brooding.  _ So close, my love. _ “But I couldn’t do that unless drastic measures were taken to ensure no one else would ever dare revolt against us again.” Jon looked away, still unsure. It was  _ such _ a high price to pay. How could a price that high be necessary? How did Dany know?

“I know burning the city was… extreme. But what if the Westerlands revolted next? Then the Riverlands? Then the Stormlands? Then the Vale and the Reach and Dorne? We’d be done for. Then all of this would have been for nothing. The Lords of Westeros won’t like the changes we’re about to make. But if they know the consequences for rebelling, if they know there would never be any chance for surrender after declaring war, then perhaps we have a chance at peace. We have a chance to make a difference.”

“A good world?” Jon echoed her earlier words. 

“Yes, a good world.”  _ So close, my love.  _ “And we will build it  _ together.” _

Jon shook his head sadly. “You don’t need me for that. I’m not like you, Dany. I don’t know how… I can’t  _ see _ like you can. Can’t see what’s never been.” His voice was thick and Dany knew he believed these lies he told himself. But they were just that, lies. 

“You  _ can _ see it. You always have been able to see it,” she insisted when he shook his head harder and a few tears slipped down his cheeks. “You put a sword in your sister’s hand when she was eleven years old, knowing it wasn’t allowed. You saw who she really was and you encouraged her to be that person. That’s the new world, not the old one.” Jon’s lip trembled as he stared down at her. Did he dare believe? 

“You made peace with the wildlings when no other Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch would have because you knew who the real enemy was and knew that making peace was better than the alternative. That’s progress. That’s the new world. A world where people are free to be whatever they want, regardless of birth. Where they’re given the chances and opportunities to succeed. Lifted up from the horrible life they’ve always known to have a shot at something better. Where the truly wicked are punished, the same punishment for a poor man as a noble one. Where people can’t be bought or sold. This is the world we build.  _ Both _ of us. The last dragons.”

_ The last of the Starks. The last dragons.  _ She always did that. She always knew. They were the same. Exactly the same, she was always proving that to him. Why then was it so hard for him to accept? Why was it so hard to  _ believe? _

“You are a dragon, just like me. The same fire that burns through my veins burns through yours as well.” Jon shook his head, it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true. How could it? How could she know? “You said it yourself, you felt it when Rhaegal died.”  _ Yes, _ he had felt that. But how could that be enough? How could  _ he _ ever be enough? “The connection was there, you both sensed it. He knew what you were. Drogon knew what you were back on Dragonstone all those months ago.” 

Jon recalled the day. The great black beast swooping down and sniffing him. The moment Jon’s hand came in contact with his rough scales. Something in him had felt… _ right. _ Like a lock clicking into place and opening something up deep inside. Something he had been forced to keep hidden away, finally set free.  _ I just want to be free. _

Dany knew she was getting closer. Closer to seeing him join her in the skies rather than watch meekly from the ground.  _ You’re a dragon too, Jon. You just have to believe it.  _

“You can deny it in your heart all you wish, but the dragons _ always _ know. This is _ real. _ This is the only thing in the world that’s real. The only truth you need.” He looked as if he wanted to believe. Wanted to believe in her. In himself. _ You are so close, my love. You’re almost there. _

He needed a demonstration. He needed to see this power for himself. 

“Wait here,” she told him, patting both his hands. 

“Where are you going?” Jon called after her but she just kept walking, down the gallery and out of the throne room. 

He wasn’t a dragon. Not like her. He only held her back. She didn’t need him. He was better off dead. Everyone would be better off if he were dead. He should be dead. Should be dead like Rhaegal.  _ The dragons always know. _ What, what did they know? That wasn’t him. He wasn’t that person. Wasn’t the person Dany needed him to be. He would never be good enough. He would never be like her. _ I’m tired of fighting.  _ But they were the same. They had always been the same. He had felt it. That first night on the ship together, sliding into her, feeling her around him. It felt like she had been made for him. Made  _ from _ him. They were the same. They were one. 

So how could he finally get rid of all this doubt clouding his mind once and for all? How could he be with her, be  _ free? _

It had taken a while with all the rubble and destruction but Dany had finally found an undamaged torch against a wall with flint and steel on a little table beside it. She lit the torch quickly and returned to Jon, praying he would finally  _ see. _

“I want to show you something,” she told him as she slowly approached, her heart tearing when he merely blinked and nodded. He was still lost. Wandering a path he didn’t know where it would lead, not caring where it would lead. She would find him. She would show him. 

“I don’t think I ever told you the story of how I hatched the dragons,” Dany began, Jon merely watching her, sad expression still claiming his face. She would  _ make _ him see. 

“You said something about your husband’s funeral pyre,” Jon mumbled, unfeeling. 

“It was his funeral pyre. I placed the dragon eggs around his body. But I never told you that I walked into the fire with them.” Jon stared at her, brow furrowed in disbelief. “The flames burnt away everything. The pyre, the bodies, my clothes. Everything but me and my sons. This is what a dragon is, Jon. This is what it means.” With that, Daenerys slowly lifted her free hand to the flames, Jon watching her in awe. He had always heard her title  _ Unburnt, _ but had never understood. Not until now. 

As Dany thrust her hand into the fire, her face betrayed nothing. No discomfort, no pain. Her hand as well didn’t singe, didn’t char. No scorched skin, no melting membrane. She was clean and whole and pure within the fire. But when she looked to him then, Jon’s stomach twisted with regret. He knew what she was about to ask of him. He knew it was no good.

“It won’t work,” Jon whispered, throat tight. “I’ve burnt my hand before.” He opened his palm and held if flat, head hung in defeat, in shame. 

“So have I,” Dany insisted, and Jon looked at her with brows furrowed. “Look.” She opened her palm to show him the burn scars from the hot spears she had removed from Drogon’s hide in the fighting pits of Meereen. “I was afraid. I didn’t believe. Not in myself, not in Drogon.” She held her palm down next to his. “Look, we’re the same.”

Identical. The same splotchy red and white webbed scars, proving her words. 

Jon inhaled sharply and withdrew his hand, terrified. Stunned.  _ Curious. _

Dany smiled. “It’s alright.” She reached up and cupped his cheek. “You don’t have to hide anymore Jon, not from me. You don’t have to be afraid. You can be  _ free.” _

_ Free. _

Jon sighed, dreaming about what that meant. He still wasn’t sure. But Dany seemed to have all the answers. Their hands were the same. They were the same. He could trust her. He had to trust her. Even if he didn’t trust himself, he knew she would never harm him. She loved him. And he loved her.

_ “It’s alright,”  _ Dany whispered, and brought the torch closer, the flames heating his cheeks.  _ “Touch it.” _ Her eyes were filled with such hope. Such strength. Such truth.

_ It’s alright. I will never hurt you. It’s alright. _

And somehow, staring into her bright, star-like eyes, all his doubts faded away. Even if he didn’t believe himself, he could believe her. In that moment, Jon finally had something beautiful. Something he had never had before. He finally had  _ faith. _

Jon reached his hand forward, eyes open wide, mouth agape in wonder as he got closer and closer to the flame. He could feel the warmth. He looked to Dany. She smiled and nodded. _ Go on. It’s alright. _

Jon could feel the heat. As if a barrier he had to break through. He took in a deep breath and finally pushed his way into the flames. 

And there was no pain.

Dany watched him in avid fascination, knowing as well as he did that the flames would not burn him, but believing and seeing were two completely different experiences. When Jon’s hand was fully engulfed and didn’t blacken or blister, tears of joy slipped down Dany’s cheeks. 

She tore her eyes away to watch his face then, watch the childlike wonder and awe envelop his features. It was the most beautiful she had ever seen him. His brow free from the worry that weighed it down. All the doubt and hate and shame. It was all gone.

_ “Unburnt,” _ Jon murmured, wiggling his fingers through the flames, as if trying to catch them like wild butterflies and adorably failing.  _ There he is. _ There was the man she had wanted to bring out from the beginning. He was finally here with her. He was  _ soaring. _

Suddenly, Jon felt  _ free. _

He felt  _ alive. _

He felt  _ whole. _

Ever since he had come back from the dead, he had wanted nothing more, deep down, than to return to the void. It called to him, night and day. Each time he closed his eyes he said a silent prayer that he could slip away back to the darkness, but clinging on anyway because he had to ensure the Night King was defeated. Secretly hoping also that once the rest of the dead fell, he would join them. 

Jon’s purpose had left him when Ollie stuck that knife in his heart. And it left him again when the dead were defeated. And it left him again when he saw the city of King’s Landing in ruins. 

But now he  _ saw. _

For the first time in likely forever, Jon saw  _ infinite possibility. _

The dark clouds hanging over him were suddenly lifted, cleared away by the bright and beautiful flames. His whole life, Jon had been rejected, hated, ridiculed, always reminded of his place as a bastard and an outsider. Even after he became King, his decisions were questioned in a way Jon knew no one would have ever dared question Robb. 

But Dany…  _ Dany. _

He looked at her from across the blaze, and she raised her hand to join his amongst the flames, palm to palm.

Dany was warmth. And acceptance. And love. And power. And purpose.

They would build a new world in their own image. And they would do it  _ together. _

Dany lowered the torch to the ground, their hands still joined in the air, and she smiled at him. “Hello there,” she whispered.

“Hello.” It was as if they were meeting for the very first time. But unburdened, as they were all those months ago. Nothing stood between them now. Nothing kept them from each other. Nothing could tear them apart. They were one. They were truth.

Lacing his fingers with Dany’s, Jon gripped her chin with his other hand and leaned down to kiss her, this too feeling like the first time. Her mouth warm and wet and inviting, her tongue teasing his feeling like a blessing, her little whimpers and sighs like prayers. 

Though it snowed around them, Jon didn’t feel the cold. Only Dany. Her lips against his, her fingers untying the leather binding of his hair. 

_ He needed her. _ This was their family’s home. Built from nothing. And they would rebuild, from the ashes of that. Start anew. New Kingdom. New home. New family.  _ Family. _

When he began pulling at the laces of her dress, Dany didn’t shy away, but held him closer, helping him to take off his belt and armor and gambeson. He stripped off her chain of status, her cape. 

They hurriedly kicked off boots, tugged at trouser laces, clawed and pawed at each other until they lay before the throne on a nest of their discarded clothing. Dany sat astride him gripping his hard cock, slowly guiding him inside with shallow thrusts, working herself onto him until he was seated fully inside her. 

Jon sat up, unable to stand not being near her and for a moment they simply stared at one another. His Dragon Queen. He touched her lips, her cheek, her brow, her nose. Tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. She was perfect. 

Slowly, Dany leaned forward, taking Jon’s lips again, needing them like one needed air to breathe, and she began to ride him. An unhurried, steady pace, hands holding onto his shoulders for leverage as she came down on him over and over again. Jon lay back once more, taking her with him, continuing his assault on her mouth, gripping her hips to thrust up into her, loving the way she would break away to swear and praise him in High Valyrian. And as they got closer and closer to coming, one word played on his lips, he could see it on hers as well. It was the only thing left to do. To make the world anew. 

_ Dracarys. _

As Dany’s thigh’s clenched around his, holding him tight, and Jon’s cock shuddered inside her, releasing his seed, they were surrounded by warmth, by fire. Burning away the rubble, the clothes they lay on, and finally, the Iron Throne. 

Breathless, they watched melted steel drip down the dais toward them, Drogon’s flames feeling like a mere summer breeze. He and Dany smiled softly at one another, marveling at it all. Fire could destroy many things, but not them.

_ “Fire cannot kill a dragon,”  _ Dany whispered, sitting up and gently placing both his hands over her abdomen, and Jon smiled tearily up at her, grateful and proud. No, fire could not kill a dragon. But it could make one. 

_ A/N: So, Jon drinks the kool aid so to speak. Maybe they’re mad. Maybe they’re Gods. Maybe they’re both. Up to you to decide! _


	6. Epilogue: House Stark Is Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion and Sansa are served the Queen's justice.

_A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this update out to you guys. Hope you enjoy the epilogue!_

** _Tyrion_ **

Tyrion could see immediately that something had changed in Jon. Something deep and fundamental to the extent that he didn’t think the old Snow was in there at all. This was someone new. Varys was wrong. Daenerys hadn’t bent her lover to her will. She had plucked him out entirely and filled the shell of his body with someone, some _ thing _ else. 

He had to admit though,  _ this _ Jon seemed infinitely happier than he had ever seen the young man. No longer was his brow furrowed with the weight of the world. He was smiling. And not in an uncomely way either. While some person’s smiles turned them demented and terrifying, Jon’s smile lit up his entire face, pinked his cheeks, made his eyes twinkle in the afternoon sunlight.  _ He’s free, _ Tyrion thought randomly. But free from what, he didn’t know. Sanity, was his guess. Mad Targaryens indeed.

Then there was  _ her. _ The moment Tyrion laid eyes on her, his stomach twisted with guilt at what he had asked Jon Snow to do to her. It was very clear from the outline of her figure, the way her dress clung to her, and the way she gently covered her belly with a hand, that she was pregnant. That or she was faking it with a small bundle of fabric. But no, that didn’t seem like his Queen. She was not one for trickery. She must have been misinformed about her condition and now was carrying her heir. First of many, probably.

Of the crowd, Tyrion thought it odd there were so many people in attendance. If he were being honest, he didn’t know there had been this many people left alive in the city after his Queen had burnt it to ashes. 

But, Tyrion noticed, it wasn’t ashes now. In the weeks he had been locked away, the city had been cleaned, debris cleared away, even the beginnings of rebuilds to certain existing structures. It looked  _ new. _ It looked  _ clean. _ Tyrion’s stomach twisted with guilt again, but for an entirely different reason. No, he couldn’t think like that. He couldn’t accept what she had done. He couldn’t forgive her for this. 

Drogon sat curled behind the platform in the city square— _ new _ city square, as there hadn’t been one here before. Tyrion idly wondered what had once been where they now stood. Around the great black dragon stood several onlookers. Close enough likely to feel the heat of his scales. The people were just... _ standing _ next to this fire-breathing dragon. As if they knew him. As if they were unafraid of him. Gods, what the fuck had happened in the few weeks he had been imprisoned?

Standing with Tyrion in front of the right side of the raised wooden platform where the King and Queen resided, were other prisoners of all denomination. Lannister soldiers, regular citizens, a few Northmen, several Dothraki, and even one Unsullied soldier, though Tyrion did not know the man’s name. 

On the left side, separated by a wall of Unsullied, stood about two dozen women. Tyrion noted, nearly as many women on their side as there were men on his side. Though unlike the men, they were unshackled. He had an inkling as to why they were there, but didn’t care enough to ask anyone for confirmation. He knew how today was going to proceed. The quicker it went, the better off he knew he’d be. 

“Citizens of King’s Landing,” Daenerys’s new page announced. Tyrion noted with mild interest that he was a rather queerly dressed fellow and seemed to have a flare for the dramatic that quite suited his Queen of a thousand titles. “As you were promised, justice will finally be served today for the crimes committed during the Battle of Great Salvation!”  _ Battle of Great Salvation? _ He knew her to be clever, but Tyrion had no idea his Queen possessed such skills as a spin doctor.  _ Great Salvation. _ What was even more shocking though, Tyrion saw, was that the crowd of people before him were eating it up. At the page’s words, they cheered, as they had any other time “justice” was served in the form of public punishment. 

But no, something  _ was _ different. The looks in the eyes of the people gathered in the square was not one of bloodlust. They were not here for entertainment. Many had tears streaming down their faces, hands raised reaching out toward the platform, toward Daenerys, their heads nodding along with the page in agreement. These people didn’t want to see heads roll. These people wanted justice… and they believed Daenerys would give it to them. 

_ How _ could this be? She had burnt their homes, their fellow man. She had reduced their city to dust. Yet they supported her. What kind of powerful spell did she have them all under? What had she promised them? What had she given them that made up for all she had taken away?

“For too long, the citizens of King’s Landing have been left to fend for themselves,” the page went on. More nods of agreement. “Those sworn to protect the city have only been used to serve the interests of the rich and privileged few. They have raped you. They have killed you. They have stolen your children from you. And they have turned their backs on you. But no longer!” Tearful cheers from the gathered crowd. 

With his final words, the page then stepped back, and the Queen stepped forward to ear piercing screams.  _ They love her. _ He couldn’t possibly fathom it. They loved her. She had burnt down their city, and they acted as if she had saved them from it. 

She lifted a delicate hand from her belly to silence them, her eyes warm and smile as genuine as he had ever seen it. “My people,” she began and more screams followed. She waited politely for them to die down before continuing. “Before you stand the worst kinds of criminals to ever pollute our city with their presence. Beside them, their victims. Today will be a demonstration in how we will deal with those who choose to break the Queen’s laws and harm their fellow men and women. Each criminal will step up here to the platform and they will be forced to face the persons they have wronged. After their charges have been read out, their victims will be presented with a choice as to how they shall pay for their crimes. Let us begin.”

She stepped back and slipped her hand into her King’s, the page taking a long scroll from a servant beside him. 

“Arthur Hill,” the page read from the scroll, “accused by Mary-Anne Waters.” An Unsullied soldier standing beside the group Tyrion was among, grabbed a Lannister soldier and escorted him up to the platform. A woman from the opposing side solemnly marched up the steps opposite them.

“Arthur Hill,” the page continued, “struck down Miss Waters’ five year old daughter, Grace, with his sword, in an attempt to get past her in retreat of the approaching liberators. Young Grace died slowly and painfully while her mother held her in her arms.”

This surprised Tyrion. From the few accounts he had heard in his moments of freedom after the battle, before Dany’s men had captured him, the Lannisters had helped the people of the city find shelter from the dragonfire or armies, or at least, had attempted to. 

After the soldier’s crimes had been read, the King then stepped forward. He addressed only Mary-Anne Waters. “For the loss of your child, you have the Queen’s and my deepest sympathies and the promise that you and yours will never want for anything for the rest of your days.” The woman nodded tearfully. “For the crime of murder, you may choose between the punishment of death by dragonfire—”

“Oh please, I didn’t mean to,” Arthur Hill began to plead. “She was gonna burn us all, I had to get away! I didn’t mean to, I didn’t mean to—”

“OR,” the King roared over the man’s pitiful whimpers, “You may have him sent to the Wall…”

“Oh please let me go to the Wall, I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean it!”

“...without his sword hand.” At this, the soldier stopped his whimpers to gulp down air as if he were drowning. That was new. Typically criminals got the choice between loss of limb  _ or _ the Wall. Tyrion pondered which option he would take, were it his own and not whoever he had allegedly wronged. Would the Queen make the choice herself? Or would she allow her husband to decide Tyrion’s fate. Seven Hells, he was already a dwarf. He couldn’t imagine being a dwarf with only one hand.  _ The One-Handed Hand. _ Fuck, this would be a long day.

In the end, the woman chose death and took the Queen’s proffered hand as the soldier was marched before Drogon. One  _ Dracarys _ later, and only ashes remained. The woman hugged Daenerys and Jon before making her way down from the platform once more. 

Next was a looter, his victim an elderly man with a mean scowl. Apparently the man—neither a Lannister soldier, nor the Queen’s, just a plainly dressed thief, oddly reminding Tyrion of Bronn—had broken into the elderly man’s wine shop and had taken all coin he could find, downed a bottle of one of the more rare vintages, then smashed the rest, allegedly just for personal entertainment. 

“For the crimes of theft and property damage…” Tyrion actually snorted at that one. “You may have him sent to the Wall or be placed in the custody of the crown, where he will serve the rest of his days doing public works in the city of King’s Landing.” 

“Send him to the Wall,” the old man grunted without hesitation. The thief cried as he was escorted away.

On it went. The majority of the criminals either rapists or child-murderers, the looter being the only non-violent offender of the bunch. Rapers’ victims were given the choice between death or a life-sentence on the Wall minus their cocks. The first few victims had chosen death. But once the rest of them heard the screams of a man who was castrated for his crime, the rest of the women chose that same punishment. 

Then only Tyrion remained. 

“Tyrion Lannister,” the Queen’s page called. “Accused by Dancy Rosewater.” Tyrion startled at the name. He hadn’t heard it in years and hadn’t thought of her in as long. What was she doing here? And what in the world could she possibly have against him? She was just a whore after all. And one he had never slept with besides.

As he was escorted up to the platform, Tyrion’s heart began to pound. He had committed treason. So why was a common whore there to decide his fate? He looked to Daenerys as he was escorted past, but her face gave nothing away. Surely this all had to be a farce. Her way of getting rid of him without admitting to her own faults. He wondered what falsified charges would be presented to this crowd of sniveling sympathizers. 

“Tyrion Lannister, has committed treason by conspiring behind his Queen’s back to spread word of a rival claim to the throne in order to sow discord among her ranks, and he freed his brother, the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister, from imprisonment. For these crimes against the crown, you are hereby  _ pardoned.” _ Tyrion turned around to stare open-mouthed at Daenerys as the crowd before him gasped in wonder. Again, Daenerys’s face gave nothing away.

“However, Tyrion Lannister also murdered a handmaiden of the royal court in cold blood,” the page went on and Tyrion’s eyes snapped to Dancy. Of course. “The handmaiden’s name…  _ was Shae.” _ So that was it then. Tyrion shouldn’t have been surprised.  _ A Lannister always pays his debts. _ He wondered if he would see Shae in the afterlife. Then again, maybe she went someplace different.  _ Where do whores go? _ he wondered. 

“Lady Dancy, for the loss of your friend, you have the King’s and my deepest sympathies,” Daenerys spoke.  _ Damn her. _ Tyrion had told her of his murder of Shae in confidence. He never believed she would use it against him in this way. 

“For the crime of murder, you may chose between the punishment of sending him to the Wall without his dominant hand, or death by dragon fire. Which do you choose?”

“Death,” Dancy said at once, staring daggers at Tyrion. He knew she was never a close friend of Shae. Only a mere acquaintance. But they were sisters in their profession. Come for one of them, the rest would make sure the culprit paid. And now Tyrion would.

The Queen nodded and stepped back, allowing her husband to walk forward to escort Tyrion away. But as he reached him, Jon stopped, eyes boring into Tyrion’s, as if to eke out a confession from the very depths of his soul. 

For some reason, Tyrion knew exactly what the King would say to him before he even opened his mouth to speak. That was interesting. He wondered if all those who were moments from death were gifted with the same kind of psychic abilities. Somehow, he thought not. 

“So,” the King began in that husky Northern burr of his. Tyrion had never told him, but he liked that voice. It was so different from those in King’s Landing and Casterly Rock he had always been surrounded by. Oddly, he wondered if their children would pick it up or if they would sound more like their mother and the city that surrounded them. So many odd thoughts ticking through his brain. As always, he wasn’t able to shut them up, not even in his final moments. 

“Is there any kind of message you’d like your ashes to pass along to Varys’s ashes?” the King asked, his face and voice devoid of emotion. Devoid of caring. But why would he care about Tyrion’s death? Tyrion had been the one to ask him to kill the woman they both loved. And he hadn’t. To him, Tyrion was a traitor. Perhaps to the whole world Tyrion was a traitor. Maybe it had been right. What she did. And he just was too small-minded to see it. 

How ridiculous. Now, in the seconds in which he was clinging from death, he was giving in to her in a way he never wanted. He had never supported this kind of extremism. In his later years, he had grown to be rather a pacifist. And the irony of him serving a known warlord… warlady? … was not lost on him. 

“To Varys’s ashes,” Tyrion began, speaking slowly, measuring his final words with as much care as possible. Who knew? They could end up in the history books, after all. He was Hand of the Queen. He had to make his last statement worth at least a footnote. “... I say nothing. He was a friend and I betrayed him. He would hear nothing from me. 

“But to my King, my Queen, and my city, I would like a few words, if you will permit me, Your Grace.” Tyrion looked up into the King’s wide brown eyes, not pleadingly, not hopeful, just honest. The King rose a single eyebrow and glanced back at Her Grace. She hesitated only a moment, then nodded.

“Thank you,” Tyrion said to his King before turning to face a crowd full of woeful, tired eyes. This was certainly  _ not _ like any other execution Tyrion had ever attended. No one had that bloodthirsty glint in their eyes, ready to see a head roll. No. But they were silently judging him, believing him to be a terrible criminal. He needed to explain.

“Good people of King’s Landing, I come before you now to die. For as determined by the Queen’s laws, I have been found guilty, and therefore I shall speak nothing against it. I humbly submit myself to my good Queen and King. And if ever in my life I wronged either of them, surely my death will be payment enough.” Tyrion noticed the crowd before him beginning to grow a little restless, loud whispers and murmurs as he was speaking. Damn them, he wanted this moment! “I ask of you all now, to pray for our good Queen—” Louder murmurs, a few shouts. What the fuck? Tyrion was busy trying to make history and they were ruining his moment! “—for she is one of the goodest Queens our great nation has ever known. And she has always treated me with nothing but kindness and respect—” Tyrion yelped and ducked as a tomatoe hurtled toward his face and the crowd jeered. They had had enough. Could hear the words behind the words. Many began scrambling to find more refuse to throw his way but at one raise of Daenerys’s hand, it all stopped in an instant.

“I think you’ve said enough.” It was the only thing she had said to him in weeks. The last words she would ever say to him. He had wanted to make history. Had wanted to die letting everyone know he thought himself innocent. That this was all a farse. Some half-arsed drummed up charge from the past, used to convict him for his crimes in the present. 

But he would never get the chance to finish his thoughts, for his Queen’s Unsullied were marching him off the platform to the ground where a sleepy Drogon was shaking himself awake for this one last fire to light.

Tyrion closed his eyes and thought of the only woman he believed would have ever loved him, hoping that with his thoughts, he might transcend to wherever she was in the afterlife. He thought of his mother. 

In the end, the flames were so hot, Tyrion scarcely felt a thing.

** _Dany_ **

Dany watched as the man who was once one of her closest friends, turned to ash. He had helped her. Had traveled nearly an entire continent to reach her. Had supported her, had loved her. And he betrayed her. Tyrion was just like the rest of them. A man who thought he could take advantage of all she had and all she was, project onto her all his dreams for the world, but more importantly himself, and then just discard her when he disagreed with her methods. No more.

She looked to Jon then, her husband knowing what was to come next. They hadn’t discussed how they would deal with it, only that they would. She was curious to find out how it would happen, what decision Jon had come to.

He gave her a single nod before turning to the crowd.

“My people,” he began, much as she had before. “Many of you have had your justice today, and for that, I am glad. But there is one not present today who has escaped the Queen’s justice. 

“She committed treason of the highest degree, broke a sacred oath sworn in front of a weirwood heart tree, sowed dissent amongst the Queen’s advisors, and has now declared herself in open rebellion against the crown.” The crowd gasped at Jon’s words, many of them likely putting two and two together. They all knew of whom he spoke. Jon, for his part, appeared emotionless. _ Good. _

“Let it be known, here and now,” Jon continued, “That Sansa Stark is considered an enemy of the crown and a wanted criminal. If she does not report to the capital within the fortnight to answer to her crimes, the Queen and I will be traveling to Winterfell thereafter, to demand her submission.” The crowd cried and cheered, just as Dany knew they would, and as Jon turned back to look at her, he had the slightest smirk on his face. She smiled back at her husband, already counting down the days before their flight to Winterfell. 

** _Sansa_ **

She would die in this castle, she would have it no other way. She was Queen in the North. The crown sat upon her head. This all belonged to her. She would not submit to the bastard or his foreign whore, even with her idiot vacant little brother advising her to do so. 

Bran was all she had left now. Arya having fucked off to the gods knew where after that whore had torched King’s Landing.  _ “They’ll burn you too, if don’t stop this nonsense playing Queen,”  _ Arya had warned. It was one of the last things she had said to Sansa before she abandoned her.

Brienne was gone as well. She refused to stay by Sansa’s side once she had declared the North independent. Brienne reasoned that she had fulfilled her oath to Lady Catelyn by getting Sansa safely North, home to Winterfell. If the girl put herself in more danger after that task was complete, it was no business of Brienne’s. 

Sansa sat on her throne and looked to the few soldiers stationed around the entrances to the Great Hall to protect her. One young man looked back, his expression full of disgust.  _ Byron… Brenton… Bonard… _ Sansa couldn’t remember his name. But she knew his brief history as a Stark soldier. He had been in King’s Landing. Had been one of the many who openly volunteered to go with her bastard brother and the Unsullied and Dothraki to defeat the Lannisters. Most of the company had been irritated to be called back to the North via Sansa’s envoy. The Dragon Queen had given them their vengeance. Had let them plow through the city like animals to exact their justice for all House Stark had suffered. 

It hadn’t been in Sansa’s plans. One of the many things she had completely miscalculated. She thought the bastard better than that. Thought that even though he be Targaryen, just like that foreign whore, his half-Starkness might make up for it. Make him sane. Make him  _ see. _ Sansa was sure once Tyrion knew the secret that it would spread like wildfire, that the Spider would kill the dragon bitch, and Jon would be forced to take a throne he never wanted. From there, it would have been easy. Either she could demand the independence of the North from him—Jon was such a push-over—or she could  _ benevolently  _ take the weight of the crown off his shoulders and don it herself.  _ Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.  _

It was the only thing she ever wanted. 

But no, Jon had been a fucking love-struck fool. Had even watched Varys and Tyrion burn, all the while standing next to his  _ beloved _ Queen. Moralless idiot. 

She looked to  _ Bryan _ again…  _ Beaufort… Baudouin… What the fuck was his name? _ He continued to stare back at her defiantly, the message behind his eyes very clear:  _ You are not my Queen. _ It made her uneasy. She wondered how many others in her company felt the same way  _ Bensen _ did. How many thought her a fraud? How many wanted her head on a spike?

It was a question Sansa didn’t think would be answered as quickly as it did.

_ Benin _ struck the hilt of his sword to the door three times and immediately the soldiers to either side of Sansa seized her,  _ Branson  _ at the door opening it and kneeling as the dirty foreigners rushed through, soiling her home with their presence. And behind them…

_ Her. _

And  _ him. _

For his part, the newly crowned  _ King of the Seven Kingdoms _ appeared emotionless and unaffected, looking on at her struggling form with the greatest amount of indifference Sansa had ever seen on his face. His  _ Queen _ however… was positively radiant. 

Silver hair billowing in loose braids and curls, silver matching fur dress clinging to her midriff to showcase the result of all the vile activities she and her  _ nephew _ had done in defiance of the gods knowing full well of their  _ relation. _ It disgusted Sansa and she tried to express as much by spitting at the bitch’s feet as she approached—except Sansa being a lady, had never learnt to spit properly and so just ended up dribbling spittle down her own chin. The dragon bitch smirked.

“Lovely thing,” Daenerys cooed, lifting the crown from Sansa’s head with little ceremony. “Weighty as well. A lot of fine silver went into the making of this.” She handed the crown to the blond man standing next to her. One of her new advisors to replace Tyrion or Varys, Sansa guessed. “Have it melted down into my new chamberpot,” the Queen instructed and the man smiled wickedly.

“At once, my Queen!” He scurried off back outside the Great Hall to do as he was bid.

“Take my crown. Take my home. Take my life. But you will never take my freedom,” Sansa bit out.

At her words, Jon actually snorted, showing emotion for the first time since entering the Hall. 

“That’s where you’re wrong,  _ cousin. _ ”

No. No no no no no. This was not happening. Death, she wanted death. Burn her, hang her, behead her, she didn’t care. It would all be better than this. This could not be her life. It couldn’t.

This was a place for… criminals and bastards. It was not a place for highborn ladies. Not a place for Queens. She was a Queen. The Queen in the North. She was, she was. She was not fit for a place like this. 

“Just the place for someone like you,” the man who was once her half-brother jeered. “An oathbreaker and a bastard.  _ Sansa  _ ** _Rivers.”_ **

“We ain’t never had no sister before,” the  _ Lord Commander _ commented. “But I s’ppose under our new Queen, you’ll be first of many, them stuck up rich girls keep defyin’ Her Grace like they do.”

“Not too many defiers, Lord Commander. Miss Rivers may be the only sister you have for quite a while,” the dragon bitch informed him.

“Oh, well, we’ll find work for her for sure. You like sewin’?” He indicated the direwolf on Sansa’s now faded and worn blue dress. “You can start with your new uniform. All black. Then a few o’the lads have got some repairs for you to take care of. Tom here will show you where to find the material and where you can sleep for the night.”

_ Tom _ was just about to grab Sansa’s arm to escort her away when she pulled back, turning to stare down the man who was once her half-brother. “You can’t leave me here. I am Sansa Stark of Winter—”

“You are no one, of nothing,” the bastard shot back. 

The Queen moved to stand right beside him and added, “And House Stark is dead.” 

  
  


_ A/N: Well, that’s that! I hope you guys liked Queens Always Have the Last Word. It was so much fun to write. I hope it was as cathartic to read as it was for me to write.  _

_ Oddly, I realize now that this chapter somewhat mirrors a similar scene from firesign’s Arms of the Ocean, with men on trial for rape. But from the moment I envisioned this fic, this was how I saw it ending. Great minds think alike, I guess! _

_ Kudos to anyone who can guess who Dany’s new page is. No, I didn’t make it very obvious, but it’s a fun headcanon nonetheless. _

_ Yes, Tyrion’s speech was meant to greatly mirror Anne Boleyn’s alleged final words, though instead of the people sympathizing with him, they obviously got tired of his bullshit.  _

_ Sorry to everyone who wanted Sansa dead. I just thought The Wall was the ultimate punishment for her prissy ass. And she is Sansa “Rivers” not Snow, because a) I didn’t want any Nonsa sympathizers thinking I had given her Jon’s surname for a reason and b) it’s the Riverlands bastard name and Sansa has never been a Stark to me. Meh, I’m that petty bitch. Sue me. _

_ For those interested, I will be participating in Ashleyfanfic’s  _ ** _Jonerys Remix!_ ** _ I’m really excited for it and am looking for a beta reader! _

_ The fic will be multi-chapter (but finished before the 4/10 deadline of course), will feature a few chapters of young Jon/Dany and their interactions with each other, lots of angst but will be a singular romance (i.e. no other romantic prospects for either Jon or Daenerys), a little political intrigue, a very interesting take on the fight against the Night King if I do say so myself, and smut will come in at the very end! For anyone interested in beta-ing for me, head over to my Tumblr and I can share the first chapter with you! _

_ For anyone interested in doing some art for the fic as I have no “artist” at the moment, that would be wonderful as well. There is really only one “scene” where I would love some artwork for, but if any talented mood-board artists are up for a chapter-by-chapter challenge, that would be so appreciated! _

_ Until Next Time! _


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